The Fashion Hound Murders (10 page)

Bernie had piled a platter with pork chops. There was a big bowl of creamed corn, another of fried potatoes and onions. In the center of the table were jars of homemade relishes, a bottle of ketchup, and a stick of butter on a small plate.

“Sit! Eat!” Bernie said.

“Looks good, Mom,” Jerry said, forking two chops onto his plate. “Mind if I have a sandwich?”

“Eat them any way you want, son,” Bernie said.

“Josie?” he asked. “Bread?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Josie said. She could see cat hair on the bread. She took a chop and a spoonful of corn. They looked hairless.

“You sure have a lot of animals,” Josie said.

“Thirty-seven cats and three dogs,” Bernie said with pride. “All of them abandoned out here by stupid people who think pets can fend for themselves in the wild. One was a toy French poodle. She was white and would have stood out like a ghost in those woods. A hawk would have carried off FiFi in two minutes if I hadn’t taken her in.”

“Do you call the Humane Society when you rescue an animal?” Josie said.

“Don’t need to,” Bernie said. “I can take care of them better than any society.”

“We just adopted a cat,” Amelia said.

“Good for you,” Bernie said. “If you like animals, you should meet Paul. He’s my renter. Lives in the other half of this duplex. Paul’s very big in animal rights. He loves all creatures—more than people, if you ask me. Paul collects exotic snakes. You can watch him feed the snakes live rats if you want.”

“Uh, no thanks,” Josie said.

“It’s only natural,” Bernie said.

“It’s a little too natural,” Josie said. She was relieved Amelia wasn’t interested in the snake feeding.

“Good pork chop,” Josie said. She was creeped out by the snake talk and hoped her compliment would change the subject.

“Thank you,” Bernie said, and returned to her favorite subject. “Snakes are useful creatures. I know girlie girls don’t like them, but they eat mice, rats, and other vermin. You need snakes in the country, but you need the right kind. Someone dumped a big old boa constrictor on my front lawn. An albino snake. All white, head to tail. I came home from church and found it in the sun by the porch. I thought it was a piece of PVC pipe until it moved its head. I liked to died when I saw it. Paul wanted that albino snake so bad. He said he’d keep it at his brother’s condo in Florida—he spends several months down there—but I said no way.

“I like animals, but I know where to draw the line. That’s the one time I did call the Humane Society. I couldn’t kill it. The society got in touch with some exotic snake club and they took the boa constrictor. They said it would have died in the woods come winter when the weather got cold. It was someone’s pet and they abandoned the animal. That’s no way to treat a pet, even a snake.”

Josie was glad when Bernie served the pie with vanilla ice cream. She was itching to leave, in more ways than one. She wanted away from the cat hair. After dinner, she jumped up from the table to help Bernie wash the dishes. Amelia helped, too. When the dishes were loaded in the washer and the pots were scrubbed, Josie said, “We’d better get back home, Jerry. Amelia and I have a big day tomorrow. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bernie.”

“It was nice of you to bring me homemade brownies, Amelia,” Bernie said. “You two ladies come back anytime, with Jerry or without him. He almost never brings home any of his girls, and the ones I’ve met looked like real tramps.”

“Mom!” Jerry said. His face was an endearing red.

“I’m glad my boy has found a nice girl, that’s all. One with no tattoos.”

Oops, thought Josie. Let’s not go there. She practically pushed Amelia out the front door while Jerry collected Chloe from the backyard. When a fat gray cat crossed the pup’s path, Chloe yelped and hid behind Jerry.

“She really did learn her lesson,” Amelia said.

“The hard way, like most of us,” Josie said.

A dented, dark pickup was parked behind Jerry’s truck.

“Rats. I’ve got to get Paul to move his truck,” Jerry said. “He’s blocked me in.”

He knocked on the door and said, “Paul! Leave your slithery friends alone and move your truck.”

Paul was a tall, rangy man whose wifebeater shirt showed off his big shoulders. He came out, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Sorry, son,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Is that another dent in front on your truck?” Jerry asked.

“Slid into the mailbox. You’ve got a few dents yourself, you know.”

Paul flipped the dish towel on his shoulder, moved his truck, and honked good-bye.

Chloe barked her own farewell.

“Paul’s a nice guy,” Jerry said as he backed out of the driveway. “I’m glad he’s there to keep an eye on Mom. It’s lonely out here after dark.”

Shortly after the pickup turned out of Bernie’s driveway, they passed a white-painted sign: DEERFORD KENNELS—ONE FOURTH MILE.

As they approached the kennels, Josie saw a wide lawn edged with ornamental cabbages and a white picket fence.

“Do you know the man who runs Deerford Kennels?” Josie asked.

“Old Jonah,” Jerry said. “He’s a great guy. Friend of my mom’s. He breeds puppies. I hear he makes a mint off those dogs, but you could never tell by looking at him. He drives a beat-up old pickup. I should talk, but his truck is even more dented than mine.

“Jonah says dogs are the best cash crop of all. They saved his family farm. The land around here isn’t much good. It doesn’t have the rich topsoil you’d find in Iowa or Kansas. Jonah was about to lose everything, when he figured out dogs were one crop that never failed. He says you can make more money with puppies than with corn and soybeans. He always has puppies you can pet—dachshunds, bichons, Chihuahuas, even teacup poodles. I can take you there now if you want to see them.”

“Puppies!” Amelia said. “I love puppies. Please, Mom.”

“You have your cat, Amelia,” Josie said. “And you have Chloe on your lap. Isn’t that enough for one day?”

“Aww, Mom,” Amelia said, dragging it out for several syllables. “Please let me pet them. They’ll like it, too.”

“It’s only seven,” Jerry said. “We’ll be home by ten at the latest. I promise.”

Josie was wavering. Jerry steered the truck around a rut and gave Josie his own sad-puppy-dog look. “Just a few minutes,” he said. “We’ll stop in, say hello, and go.”

The blacktop road leading to Deerford Kennels was beautifully kept.

“Okay,” Josie said. “You can look, Amelia, but you can’t take a pup home.”

“I’m happy with Harry,” Amelia said. “I wouldn’t want to upset him.”

Jerry’s truck turned up the wide, smooth blacktop road. Winter mums bloomed around a spotlighted DEERFORD KENNELS sign. Josie remembered Jerry’s remark about breaking an axle on the road. She was out in the country. In a dark, beat-up truck. With a man who had a funny first name, “like something in the Bible,” Edna had said. The late Edna Prilosen. Who named all four of those facts as clues to the puppy miller.

Jeremiah. Was Jerry part of the puppy mill ring? Was he helping Paul? Paul was a name from the Bible, too.

Josie’s heart was pounding. If anything went wrong, she could appeal for help to the man who had pretty mums and white-painted fences. He’d help her. He was the only civilization for miles around.

“Maybe we can stop for a minute or two,” Josie said.

Chapter 11

The smooth blacktop ended abruptly once the Deerford Kennels entrance was out of view. Jerry’s pickup lurched into more muddy ruts. Gravel ricocheted off the undercarriage. The truck rattled until Josie feared it would break apart.

Finally, the truck slowed and growled to a halt. Harsh security lights glared down on a rusting turquoise mobile home plunked in front of a two-story farmhouse with a rotted porch and boarded windows. The house’s gray wood was scabbed with yellow paint.

“Spook house!” Amelia said.

“Doghouse,” Jerry said. “You are looking at the world’s largest doghouse. Jonah keeps his dogs in the farmhouse. He lives in the trailer with his two boys, Bart and Billy. Billy’s the baby.”

Dogs barked and whined.

“Ew, it smells bad,” Amelia said, wrinkling her freckled nose.

“The boys get behind on their chores sometimes, but the animals are well fed and cared for,” Jerry said.

“Is there a Mrs. Deerford?” Josie asked.

“Allegra took off years ago,” Jerry said. “She left no forwarding address. Abandoned those little boys. Poor Jonah has done his best to raise them.”

Josie could see why the woman left. The place was dismal. The muddy yard was crisscrossed with dozens of footprints. Abandoned truck parts, broken lawn mowers, bald tires, and other junk edged the property.

Chloe, excited by the sounds of other dogs, gave a few sharp yaps and lunged for the truck’s door.

“Hold on to her, Amelia,” Jerry said.

Amelia held the squirming pup and scratched her neck fur. “Easy, girl,” she whispered.

“We’re going to have to leave Chloe in the truck,” Jerry said. “I don’t trust her around all those dogs. There’s Jonah coming out of the shed. Don’t be put off by his looks. He’s a diamond in the rough.”

Jonah could have stepped out of an 1890s photo. His thick black hair was long and handsomely streaked with gray. His bushy, untrimmed beard hid his neck and his shirt collar.

Jonah wore overalls, a brown fleece-lined barn coat, a flannel shirt, and leather work gloves. He was followed by two boys who looked younger than Amelia. Their jeans were dirty. Their jackets were too light for the night chill. Josie wanted to clean them up, wrap them in heavy sweaters and winter coats, and buy them gloves and hats.

Their poor round heads were shaved to the scalp, which made the boys look like space aliens. Josie wondered whether Jonah was doing his own barbering or if the boys had had head lice. Shaving off the hair was the quick, cheap treatment. Well, lice happened at even the best schools, and the critters spread quickly.

But there was no excuse for those small, red hands protruding from the boys’ worn jackets. What kind of mother would abandon her boys?

“Jerry!” Jonah took off his work gloves and stuffed them in a pocket. “Why didn’t you warn me you were coming?” His smile showed crooked teeth, but there was no warmth in it. Josie saw his eyes were steely with suspicion. Jonah was not pleased by his uninvited visitors.

“We came to pet the pups,” Jerry said. “But we can leave if you want.”

“No, no, might as well stay now that you’re here,” Jonah said ungraciously. “Is that a new puppy I see in your truck?”

“That’s Chloe,” Jerry said. “She’s a yellow Lab mix. Got her at the Humane Society.”

“Now, Jerry, why did you go and do that, paying their fancy prices? I could have gotten you a good deal on an AKC-registered pup and you wouldn’t have had to have it spayed, either. Could have had yourself a good little mon eymaker, once you bred her.”

“Thanks,” Jerry said. “But you’ve got all those froufrou dogs.”

“The ladies like the little dogs,” Jonah said. “I’ve got Pekes, Chihuahuas, bichons, toy poodles, miniature dachshunds, all good sellers. You can put any of my dogs in a purse.”

“I don’t carry a purse,” Jerry said. “I needed a guy dog, Jonah. Let me introduce my two friends, Josie and Amelia. Amelia likes pups.”

“She can’t buy one,” Josie said quickly, hoping Jonah would ask them to leave. She hated this place. The air seemed thick with neglect and cruelty, as well as evil odors.

“Uh, Jerry, could I talk to you for a minute. Alone?” He pointedly escorted Jerry back by a shed. Five minutes later, the two were back.

“Well, come on in, little lady,” Jonah said, with another insincere smile and a too-cheerful, “It doesn’t cost anything to look.” Josie thought that should be the puppy mill’s motto.

Jonah’s mud-spattered work boots thunked across the wooden porch. Josie stepped carefully, avoiding the loose boards. Amelia followed. The two blond boys trailed behind her.

Their skin was so white, Josie could see the blue veins under the nearly transparent skin. They were too skinny.

“Hey!” Jonah said to the boys. “You two boys have work to do. Go clean out the shed.”

The boys shuffled off without a word, like tired old men. There were none of the ritual protests kids gave when confronted with a job they didn’t want to do. Billy had a dark bruise on his right wrist.

Jerry was still teasing Jonah about his pedigreed purse dogs. “God gave dogs legs so they can walk,” he said.

The house’s old front door had pretty carving around an oval opening that had once held beveled glass. Now it was covered with unpainted plywood. Jonah opened it and the three followed Jonah into what used to be a large living room. It still had faded rose-covered wallpaper with lighter places where pictures once hung. He flipped on an old brass chandelier with three bare bulbs hanging from a cracked plaster ceiling. Worn yellow linoleum covered the floor.

The room was jammed with wire cages set over a series of troughs to catch the waste. The troughs were badly in need of cleaning. To the right was a former kitchen, now filled with enormous sacks of dog chow, dog dishes, and plastic garbage cans desperately in need of emptying. Three long-handled spades stood in the corner.

Josie heard a chorus of whines and whimpers. Four mouse-sized Pekingese huddled together in one cage near an overturned water dish. Their food bowl was empty. In other cages, tiny pups yipped and scratched at the wires. Four or five pups slept on top of one another. Others stared straight ahead with empty eyes. A few scratched their fur. Watching the scratching pups, Josie felt her own skin itch.

With one finger Amelia was petting a dirty white bichon. Josie wished her daughter wouldn’t touch the animal. Its red weepy eyes didn’t look healthy.

“It’s cold in here,” Josie said. “How do the dogs stay warm?”

“They’re wearing fur coats, honey. And they’ve got each other,” Jonah said, indicating a roiling, wriggling pile of puppies in a wire cage.

“Is that enough?” Josie asked.

“They’re animals,” Jonah said. “Nature meant for them to live outside. I keep them in a nice house. Do you worry about cows in a barn? Do farmers tuck them into beds? This is my farm and these are my animals.”